


Requiem

by sahiya



Category: White Collar
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-24
Updated: 2011-03-24
Packaged: 2017-10-17 06:12:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/173776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sahiya/pseuds/sahiya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter got the call in the car. (Written directly after "Point Blank" aired in September 2010.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Requiem

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Fuzzyboo03 for helping me fix the ending and find a title.

Peter got the call in the car.

“Agent Burke,” he said. Neal was in the passenger seat, staring out the window with his fist pressed against his mouth. He’d said Mozzie had a five o’clock rendezvous with a contact in the park; it was a quarter till now, and they were trapped in midtown traffic. One block behind them in her own car, Diana fared no better. Peter gritted his teeth and wished the Taurus came with sirens. Not that it’d do him any good in this sort of gridlock.

“Peter, it’s Jones. Is Neal with you?”

“Yeah, we’re stuck in traffic. Why?”

“You need to come back. I just got off the phone with NYPD. Neal’s friend, the little guy - Peter, I think he's dead.”

There was a sudden buzzing in Peter’s ears. It was only through a lifetime of habitual self-control that Peter managed not to react. He drew a breath and held it, then let it out slowly. “Okay,” he said, carefully. “Are you sure?”

“I haven’t seen the body, but he had your business card in his wallet and the description fits. Point-blank range, Sutter said. He never had a chance.”

“Right,” Peter said, on autopilot, “yeah. Okay.”

“Peter? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, of course. I’ll be in as soon as I can, but it might be awhile. Do me a favor, will you, and call Elizabeth for me. Ask her to meet us at home as soon as possible.” It was a hell of a thing to lay on El, Peter knew, especially knowing she’d be torn up, too. But he’d have to go in to the office, and he couldn’t leave Neal alone after giving him the news. El would look after him.

“Yeah, consider it done. Hey, Peter,” Jones added quickly, just as Peter was about to hang up. “If there’s anything you or Neal needs -”

“I’ll let you know. Thanks, Jones.” Peter hung up.

There was a parking garage coming up on the right. Peter turned into it, took a ticket, and pulled into the first space he saw. He turned the engine off and turned to face Neal, who was staring straight ahead, his face utterly blank. “Neal,” he said quietly.

“We’re not going to the park?” Neal asked, in a small voice Peter had never heard from him before.

Peter swallowed. “No,” he said. “Neal, Jones just spoke to NYPD. Someone matching Mozzie’s description with my business card in his pocket was found dead in the park.”

A muscle twitched in Neal’s jaw. “No.”

“I’m so sorry, Neal.”

“No,” Neal insisted, shaking his head, “no, no. It’s not Mozzie. He wouldn’t - he’s too paranoid. He wouldn’t -”

“Neal,” Peter said quietly, reaching across to lay on a hand on top of Neal’s. He twitched away. “I’m sorry, I really am. I liked him, too.”

Neal didn’t answer. He’d gone very white, Peter saw, his eyes wide and staring fixedly at the sign on the wall that declared this to be reserved parking, Monday through Friday. Peter was almost relieved when Diana pulled into the space next to them. He opened the door and climbed out. She was already coming around the back of her car to meet him.

“Jones called me,” she said. “What do you need me to do?”

Peter thought quickly. He could send her with Neal to the house - but then Diana would have to tell El, and he didn’t want that. “I’m taking Neal back to my house. I need you to go to the scene and coordinate with NYPD; this is our investigation and I don’t want them taking it over. Then head back to the Bureau and help Jones. He doesn’t have all the pieces you do. A lot of this isn’t going to make a hell of a lot of sense to him on his own. Use your good judgment on what to tell Hughes.”

She nodded, glancing at the car. “How’s Neal taking it?”

Peter shook his head. “He’s in shock. I’ll be in as soon as I’ve got him and El settled. Call me when you’ve got confirmation, all right? I don’t want him making up escape scenarios in his head any longer than necessary.”

She nodded. “Will do, boss.”

Peter nodded. “Thanks. I’ll see you in a few hours.” He watched Diana get into her car and pull out of the garage. Peter took a deep breath, trying to get hold of himself before got back into the car and had to face Neal. Mozzie had been . . . not a friend, exactly, but Peter had been truthful when he’d told Neal that he’d liked him. Despite himself, sometimes, when he’d driven Peter crazy with his code words and pass phrases, but he’d been a good friend to Neal, and for that, Peter would always remember him fondly.

Neal hadn’t moved an inch since Peter had gotten out of the car. He was silent as Peter drove out of the garage, re-entering traffic with a grimace. Finally, Peter spoke, answering the questions Neal hadn’t asked. “Diana’s going to take care of things for awhile,” he said, not wanting to say that he’d sent her to the murder scene. “I’m taking you back to my house. I asked Jones to call Elizabeth and tell her to meet us there. I have to come back to the office this evening, but she’ll stay with you.”

“She has a reception tonight,” Neal said, in a vague voice. He was staring out the window again. “She mentioned it at lunch yesterday. New client. Could be big business.”

Peter winced. He’d forgotten that. “We’ll work it out, then. I’m not leaving you on your own.”

“June’s out of town,” Neal said, still unnervingly vague. “I have to walk Bugsy.”

“The pug?” Neal nodded. “I’ll pick him up tonight and bring him to the house. I can get a few of your things then, too. I want you to stay with us for a few days.”

Neal shook his head. “You don’t have to - really, I’m not going to do anything stupid, I swear.”

“I know,” Peter said, though in truth he knew no such thing. With Mozzie and Kate both dead, he had no idea what Neal might be capable of. And with no definitive person on whom to vent his rage, Peter was afraid it might turn inward. He didn’t want Neal to hurt anyone, least of all himself. “But you still shouldn’t be alone right now. And neither should El, once I tell her. She liked Mozzie a lot.”

“Mozzie liked her,” Neal said softly. His voice cracked. Peter glanced at him, briefly. Neal turned to catch his eye for the first time since before Peter had given him the news. “Peter, is - is it possible there was a mistake?”

Peter sighed. “Like I said, NYPD called us when he found my card on the -” _Body_ , Peter almost said, just barely stopping himself “- on the victim. It’s possible it’s someone else, and that’s why I sent Diana. But, Neal, it’d be an awfully big coincidence.”

Neal let out a breath. “I know. I know. I just . . .” His breath hitched. Peter reached over and covered Neal’s hand, which was resting on his knee. This time, Neal didn’t pull away. “I keep thinking there’s just no way - he’d never let it happen. He’d . . .” His voice faded into nothing.

Peter didn’t answer. Everything he thought of saying either offered false hope or felt empty and flat. In the end, he decided it was better not to say anything at all.

Neither of them spoke for the rest of the drive. Peter drove one-handed as much as possible, with his right hand covering Neal’s. When he glanced over, Neal was dry-eyed but frighteningly pale, staring out the window. He looked younger than Peter had ever seen him, and Peter was reminded that Neal was barely in his early thirties. Not for the first time, he wondered just how, exactly, Neal and Mozzie had met, and just what Mozzie had been to Neal when he was first starting out.

Neal finally stirred when Peter’s phone rang as they were pulling into the driveway. El’s car was already there, parked a little crookedly, as though she’d been distracted or in a hurry. “Diana,” Peter said, answering.

“It’s Mozzie,” Diana said.

Peter let out his breath. He hadn’t realized until then that he’d been holding out hope, too, in some small way. “Yeah. All right, thanks for letting me know.”

“Tell Neal I’m sorry. The little guy was a pain in the ass, but he was . . .” She stopped, and Peter could have sworn he heard her breath hitch. “He was strangely charming in his way,” she finished at last, roughly.

“He was. Thanks, Di.” He hung up. “Neal . . .”

“It was him,” Neal said flatly.

Peter nodded. “Diana told me to tell you that she’s very sorry. She actually teared up, if you can believe that.” Neal said nothing. Peter decided to take refuge in logistics. “Look, El doesn’t know yet. I need to tell her. It might be easier if you wait here in the car.”

“Okay,” Neal said. His voice had gone vague again, like he wasn’t all there.

“Promise me you won’t -”

“I won’t,” Neal said, turning his head to look at him. But there was no ire there, just exhaustion. “Lock me in if it’ll make you feel better. I don’t care.”

He really didn’t care, Peter realized, and that, more than anything else, scared the hell out of him. It’d been bad when Kate had died; very, very bad, even. But Mozzie had been there to shoulder a lot of the burden and Peter had let him, because Mozzie had known Kate and didn’t have the same baggage with Neal that Peter did. Neal had been grief-stricken, but he’d also been angry, and that anger was what had carried him through the last few months. Neal wouldn’t last very long if all that anger bled out of him, leaving hollow resignation in its place. “That isn’t necessary,” Peter told him, unbuckling his seat belt. “I shouldn’t be more than a few minutes.”

Elizabeth was on the phone when Peter came in. “See if the caterer can do fifty more canapes. . . . I know. . . . I know. . . . Tell me about it. We’ll be fine, Sharon, don’t worry.” She looked up, saw Peter, and smiled. “Okay, I have to go. You can do this. . . . Yes, I’ll see you soon.” She hung up. “Sorry, honey. What’s all this about? Jones didn’t tell me anything, just said it was important I meet you here. Is everything all right?”

Peter dropped onto the sofa beside her. “No,” he said plainly. “El, Mozzie’s dead.”

Her mouth dropped open. “What - Peter, I don’t - _what happened_?”

“He was shot. I don’t know who, but I think I know why. I think it might be the same reason Kate was killed.”

El’s hand went to her mouth and her eyes filled with tears. “Oh God. Poor Mozzie. Poor _Neal_. Peter, where is he? Is he all right?”

“He’s in the car,” Peter said. “I want him to stay with us for a few days. June’s out of town, he’s got nowhere else to go, and he can’t be alone right now.”

“Of course,” she said. Her eyes were very wide. “Of course.”

“I know you’ve got this reception tonight -”

“Sharon can do it. I’ll tell her there was a death in the family.”

“Thanks,” Peter said, letting out his breath. “I’d stay, but if we’re ever going to get to the bottom of this -”

“No, you need to go,” she agreed. She put her hand to her neck and took a deep breath. “God, this is just - he was here just a few weeks ago, he brought wine and -”

“I know,” Peter said, reaching over to pull her into his arms. “I know.”

“What is Neal going to do without him?” Elizabeth asked, resting her head in the crook of Peter’s neck. She sat up suddenly. “Peter, you left him in the car!”

“Calm down, he’s all right for the moment.”

“You’re not afraid he’s going to run?”

Peter sighed. “That’s about the last thing I’m worried about with Neal right now. I don’t think he has it in him to run, and that scares the hell out of me. He’s been holding it all in for months now. He came close to losing it today, even before this happened. He won’t crack in front of me, but he might in front of you.”

She nodded. “And if he does? What do you want me to do?”

Peter frowned, turning to look out the front window. He could see Neal’s silhouette in the front seat. He couldn’t see his face from here, though, couldn’t see if he was crying or just staring, the way he had the whole way from the city. He looked back at El. “Pretend it was me who just lost someone. Do what you’d do for me.”

El gave him a lopsided smile. “Honey, I hate to break it to you, but you and Neal are pretty different.”

Peter returned the smile. “I know. Just . . . do what you need to do.”

She nodded. “I have to call Sharon and let her know I can’t be there tonight.”

“I’ll get Neal.” Peter leaned over then and kissed her, lingering just a little. “Thank you,” he murmured, and stood to go out to the car.

The moment he brought Neal inside, Peter knew he’d made the right choice in bringing him here. El tossed her cell phone almost carelessly onto the coffee table, walked straight to Neal, and put her arms around him. “Sweetie, I’m so sorry,” she said. Neal made a wordless noise, buried his face in her neck, and _clung_. Peter hung back awkwardly, wishing that there weren’t so many rules and regulations - spoken and unspoken - governing his own relationship with Neal. He’d felt very bold just holding Neal’s hand in the car; holding him like Elizabeth was, rubbing a hand up and down his back and murmuring nonsense in his ear while Neal shook like he might physically come apart in her arms - that was out of the question.

Neal’s face was blotchy when he finally let El go. Peter didn’t know if that was an improvement on deathly pale or not. “Sorry,” Neal muttered, stepping back.

“Are you two going to be all right?” Peter asked, mostly looking at Elizabeth. El nodded. Neal didn’t respond, but he was clutching her hand in his. “All right. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He hesitated then, wondering if even a brief hug from him would be welcome. Probably not after everything that had happened today, he thought, a little sadly. El frowned, and Peter realized he’d been standing there waffling awkwardly for at least ten seconds. He said good-bye, hastily, and escaped.

***

It was nearly two in the morning by the time Peter returned, Neal’s overnight bag on one shoulder and Bugsy’s leash in his opposite hand. It had been the longest day of his life, or so it felt, and he didn’t have any good news to bear.

There’d been no mistaking Mozzie. Peter had officially ID’d him at the coroner’s and then headed back to the office with Diana to start the paperwork. At one-thirty, when they still hadn’t managed to untangle all of Mozzie’s aliases to figure out his real name, they decided to call it a night. Neal probably knew, but Peter wasn’t sure he’d give it up.

There was no sign of the man who’d killed him. He’d used one hell of a silencer. A few witnesses had seen Mozzie sitting on the bench, and then they had seen a dark haired man sit down beside him for a few seconds before he keeled over, but none of them could give much of a description. It was enough for Peter to strongly suspect their patchwork man, but he was in the wind; none of the surveillance cameras had shown him getting into a car or even crossing an intersection anywhere near the park. Peter wondered if he had literally gone to ground and crawled down a manhole into a sewer somewhere. But there was no sign of that, either.

All the lights were off in his house, but the TV flickered reassuringly. Peter dropped his coat and his keys in the front hallway while Satchmo and Bugsy sniffed each other. In the threshold to the living room, he paused, taking in his wife and Neal curled up on the sofa together, both sound asleep. El had her arms around Neal, her hand in his hair, as though she’d been stroking it. His head rested somewhere between her neck and her breast. A throw covered them both, preventing Peter from seeing how their legs might or might not be tangled together.

Peter leaned against the doorjamb and waited for the jealousy to hit. It should, he knew. El was his wife and Neal was Neal. But he just couldn’t find it in himself to heap any more misery upon the day, for himself or either of them. He’d told her to do whatever she had to, and he’d meant it. If that included falling asleep in moderately compromising positions in front of the TV, then so be it.

His stomach growled, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten anything but a cup of instant soup since lunch. He let both dogs out into the back yard, went into the kitchen, and flicked on the light. El had made dinner at some point, it appeared, and there were two empty wine bottles sitting on the counter - good stuff, out of the special occasions rack. No wonder they were sacked out.

He looked in the fridge. Grilled cheese and tomato, he decided, pulling the relevant ingredients out. He’d eat, and then he’d wake El and Neal, shuffle Neal off to the guest room, and catch at least three hours of sleep in bed with his wife.

When his sandwich was half-done, he went to go let Bugsy in and crate Satchmo, much to Satch’s dismay. He returned, pug at his heels, to find Neal standing in the middle of the kitchen, rubbing his face sleepily and squinting in the bright lights. “Hey,” Peter said, nudging Bugsy aside so he could get to the stove to check on his sandwich. “Did I wake you?”

“No,” Neal said, dropping into a kitchen chair and leaning his head on his hand. “Your wife’s snoring did.”

Peter smiled fondly. “El does that sometimes. She never believes me when I tell her. Now you can back me up.”

“She’d only accuse us of being in cahoots,” Neal said with a small smile. Bugsy leaped up into his lap and settled down, head on his paws.

Peter gave a brief, tired chuckle. “Probably.” He slid his sandwich onto a plate, added a handful of pretzels from a bag open on the counter, and fetched a beer from the fridge. “You want half of this?” he asked, as casually as possible. “I really shouldn’t eat the whole thing at this hour.”

Neal shook his head. “El made tacos.”

“Did you actually eat them?” Peter asked. Neal shrugged. Peter got a second plate out and slid half the sandwich and most of the pretzels onto it, before getting a glass of water and setting it in front of Neal.

“No beer?” Neal asked.

Peter glanced significantly toward the wine bottles. “I don’t think you need it.”

For a moment, Peter thought Neal was going to argue. Then he sighed. “Maybe not.” He picked a bit at the food, but Peter was watching in between bites and could tell he was just moving it around. “Peter -”

“Eat first, Neal,” Peter said firmly. “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know afterward.” Not that he had much to tell at this point.

“No, just . . .” Neal swallowed. “Was it fast?”

That was . . . not what Peter had expected. He’d expected Neal to dig into the investigation immediately. “Yes,” Peter said gently. “He was shot at point blank range while sitting on a bench in the park. It was very fast. I doubt he had time to feel much of anything at all.”

Neal frowned. “That means whoever did it didn’t want the information he had. They just wanted him not to tell anyone.”

Peter nodded. “Yeah. But don’t worry about any of that. I don’t want you on this investigation. You’re too close to it.”

“I’m a liability, you mean,” Neal said bitterly.

Peter winced at his own words echoed back to him. “Yeah. That’s not a criticism, though. If someone close to me were hurt - if it were you or El -” _God forbid_ “- Hughes wouldn’t let me near the case with a ten foot pole, no matter how much I begged. It’s like doctors treating their own family. You can’t be objective.”

“But maybe in a few days -”

“Weeks, at least. Three weeks, no less. And hopefully by then we’ll have it solved and it won’t be necessary. Neal,” he said seriously, when Neal wouldn’t look at him, “do you really want to see photographs of the crime scene?”

Neal swallowed. “No.”

“So let me handle it.” Peter reached out and put his hand on Neal’s shoulder, gripping it firmly. “You and I are one hell of a team, but Diana, Jones, and I were pretty good before you came along. We can do this for you, if you trust us.”

There was a long silence. Finally, Neal nodded. “Thanks,” he said hoarsely.

“All right,” Peter said, retrieving his hand. “Now eat your sandwich.”

Somewhat to Peter’s surprise, Neal actually did eat his sandwich, and then picked listlessly at the pretzels until Peter was done with his. Peter took both plates to the sink, brushed the crumbs off, and put them in the dishwasher. He turned back at the scrape of a chair over the floor; Neal had stood up and was hovering awkwardly, while Bugsy trundled around his ankles looking for anything they might have dropped.

“I guess I should, um.” Neal rubbed a hand over his eyes. “You probably want to get some sleep.”

“Yeah,” Peter said with a grimace. “It was a long night, and tomorrow’s going to be a long day. Let’s get the bed in the guest room made up.” Peter grabbed the overnight bag out of the front hall and led Neal up the stairs to the linen closet, where he pulled out sheets and a stack of towels. Neal took them from him and then stood staring down at them, blinking tiredly. Peter touched Neal’s chin, forcing his eyes up to meet his. “Are you going to be okay on your own? Really?”

Neal smiled in a ghost-pale imitation of his usual disarming grin. “I won’t be on my own. I have Bugsy.”

“Neal.”

Neal shrugged. “What are you going to do if I say no, Peter? Tuck me in, read me a story, and stay with me until I fall asleep?”

Peter answered Neal’s shrug with one of his own. “Why not?”

Neal opened his mouth, then shut it. “I’ll be okay. Really.” He looked down. “But thank you.”

A stair creaked. Peter glanced over Neal’s shoulder and saw Elizabeth at the top of the stairs, watching them. _Hug him_ , she mouthed. Peter looked at Neal, but he was still looking down at the stack of sheets and towels in his hands. As though . . . as though he were waiting for something he didn’t have much hope of ever receiving. Peter swallowed and abruptly decided that rules and regulations were for nights that weren’t this one. “C’mere,” he said, gruffly, and pulled Neal into his arms.

It was awkward as hell at first, because the linens were in the way. Neal finally just let them fall. He held Peter back, much more tightly than Peter had expected. He’d rarely hugged other men in his adult life, Peter reflected, and then it had always been a back-slapping sort of affair. This . . . wasn’t that. Neal was holding on to him the way he’d held onto El earlier, as though he was afraid Peter might disappear if he let go for even a second. He could feel fine tremors running through Neal’s body. Peter adjusted his hold slightly so they fit together better, and resolved to stay there for as long as Neal needed him.

“Peter, promise me,” Neal mumbled, at last, still not pulling away.

“Promise what?” Peter asked. He expected it to be something like, _Promise you won’t lie to me from now on_ , or possibly, _Promise me you’ll catch him and make him pay._

“Promise me you’ll be careful,” Neal said, pulled back to look Peter in the eye.

Peter blinked. “I . . .”

“He’s killed three times over this thing,” Neal said. The tips of his fingernails dug into Peter’s back. “Peter, please, promise me. I can’t lose you, too. I can’t.”

“You won’t,” Peter said. “I promise I’ll be careful. I’ve got Diana and Jones watching my back.”

Neal nodded. “I know, I just . . .” His voice cracked, and he suddenly looked closer to tears than Peter had seen him all day. “It’s just been one hell of a year.”

“I know,” Peter said, resisting the urge to press his lips to Neal’s forehead. They were already walking a fine line, even with El only five feet away. Or perhaps that was especially with El only five feet away. He settled for putting his hand on the back of Neal’s neck. “Neal. I know I get pissed at you sometimes, and God knows you get pissed at me, but I want you to know - I wouldn’t trade working with you for anything in the world.”

Neal closed his eyes. “I would,” he whispered. “I’d rot in prison for the rest of my life if it’d bring Mozzie and Kate back.” He sighed, and let his head fall forward against Peter’s shoulder. “But it won’t.”

“No,” Peter agreed, “and neither of them would’ve wanted that for you.” He moved his hand to the back of Neal’s head, holding him against his shoulder.

The two of them stayed like that, silent, until at last El crept up the last two steps and padded over, stepping deftly around Bugsy. She bent down and gathered up the linens Neal had dropped, and gently put her hand on Neal’s shoulder. “C’mon, you two,” she said softly. “It’s past time we were all in bed.”

Neal was almost swaying with exhaustion by the time they’d made up the bed and he’d changed into his pajamas. He didn’t want to take the Tylenol PM El had offered him, but Peter thought it probably wouldn’t matter. Still, Peter found himself sitting on the edge of Neal’s bed, once Elizabeth had left, petting June’s dog and pretending he wasn’t doing exactly what Neal had scoffed at and sitting with him until he fell asleep. Neal either didn’t notice or didn’t mind; within a minute or two, his breathing had evened out and his face had relaxed, smoothing out in sleep. Peter just hoped it would be peaceful.

El was waiting for him in bed. Peter stripped off his suit and didn’t even bother to change into pajamas, just crawled into bed in his undershirt and boxers. “Oh God, I have to be at the office in five hours,” he groaned. “Are you working tomorrow?”

“No, I’m Neal-sitting tomorrow,” she said with a lopsided smile.

His eyelids were already trying to close of their own volition, but he forced them open to look at her. “Thank you. I can’t imagine what I would do without you. Or what he would do. Just - thank you.”

She put the light out and lay down, head on his shoulder. He curled his arm up so that his hand rested in her hair. “It’s nothing. It’s what we do for the people we love.” She twisted around onto her stomach and looked at Peter, face very serious. “It’s what we do for family. And that’s what Neal is now. His family is gone, so we’re it.”

Peter sighed. “You didn’t sign up for this.” Neither had he, come to that.

She shrugged. “Consider this me, signing up.” She smiled, mouth tilting down at the corner. “Tonight was . . . well, let’s just say I think it might be the first time I’ve ever really met Neal Caffrey. I only wish it hadn’t taken something like this for it to happen.”

Peter pulled her down to his shoulder again. “He’s going to be a mess for a long time. I’m starting to suspect that Mozzie was more important than I knew in keeping him together. I don’t know if I can do it on my own.”

She lifted her head to frown at him. “Haven’t you been listening? I just told you that you don’t have to. Now hush and go to sleep.” She brushed his lips with hers. “Love you.”

“Love you, too,” he murmured. He closed his eyes obediently, but he didn’t fall asleep right away. Instead he lay awake thinking about how unbelievably lucky he was to have patient, compassionate, rock-solid Elizabeth with him in this, as in everything else. And then he thought about that day, almost ten years ago now, when Neal’s file had landed on his desk. He could never have foreseen this moment then, could never have known that somewhere, somewhen, his friendship with Neal Caffrey would become the second most important relationship in his life.

Fate was strange, sometimes wonderful, often cruel. Today, it felt like it’d been both.

 _Fin._


End file.
